


A Moment of His Own

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor goes back in time to say one last goodbye. Angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of His Own

**Title** : A Moment of His Own (1/1)  
 **Disclaimer** : I don’t own Doctor Who.  
 **Pairing** : Ten/Rose  
 **Spoilers** : Journey's End  
 **Summary** : The Doctor goes back in time to say one last goodbye. Angsty.  
 **Word Count** : 1,800  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **A/N** : I think I might have a kink for slightly!stalker!Ten. It's probably best not to examine this further. :D

Not betaed.

His hair is still wet when he pushes the TARDIS’s doors open— _his_ TARDIS, and yet not.

The console room is abandoned. Sometimes he goes out when his companions are sleeping—either because the planet is uninhabitable for humans or because he needs TARDIS parts or simply because he’s bored.

This was one of those nights.

He brushes damp hair off his forehead and shoves his hands in his pockets. Then he makes his way through the console room, down the northeast passage, only stopping when he reaches an unmarked door. There he pauses, hand hovering over the knob.

He shouldn’t do this. He should go. Just… turn his back and go.

He rests his hand on the doorknob and hovers indecisively— _don’t make me go back_ — _he needs you, that’s very me_ — _you act like such a lonely man_ —and then turns the handle.

The door swings open. The first thing he sees is a dresser lined with opened tubes of makeup. There’s a mirror overhanging the dresser, pictures of Jackie and Mickey and one of Pete stuck under the frame. Clothes litter the floor, bunched up and wrinkled like the owner stripped them off and left them where they fell.

And in the corner, curled up under a dark purple comforter is Rose Tyler, blonde hair just peeking out from under the blanket.

He feels a pang—the room is not so different than the one she left behind on his own TARDIS. He never could quite bring himself to sort it out after she left.

 _There_ , he thinks. He’s seen her. Time to go.

Instead, he walks to the bed and gingerly sits down on the edge. The mattress dips towards him and Rose twitches in her sleep, hands curling up under her chin.

He sits and watches her for a few minutes—counts her breath and lets his gaze linger on her freshly scrubbed face, almost entirely devoid of makeup. Instinctively he reaches out a hand, fingers gently brushing her cheek.

Rose shifts and reaches to pull the cover up to her neck. He hastily pulls his hand back, but Rose’s eyes flutter open and she tenses.

“Who’s there?” she calls. He’s too startled to answer at first, and Rose’s voice rises with panic. “You better speak up or I’ll…”

“Rose, it’s me,” he cuts in hurriedly. “Just me.”

She relaxes and struggles to sit up. “Doctor?”

“That’s right.” He considers telling her she’s had a bad dream and urging her back to sleep, but something stops him.

“What are you doing here?”

He considers and dismisses several answers. Would she _really_ believe in a socks’ monster? Finally, he settles on honesty, “I wanted to see you.”

He can tell he’s startled her. She pulls her covers closer. Voice still sounding heavy with sleep, she says, “You what?”

His hearts are beating very fast. “I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I’ll go.”

He doesn’t move.

Rose’s gaze becomes more concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

He can’t bring himself to answer.

“Doctor?” she presses, sounding more alarmed. “I can hardly see you.”

“I know,” he says. _It’s probably better this way_ , he adds silently. He can’t escape the feeling that somehow she’d _know_ if she could see him properly.

She reaches for him, hand stretching out blindly. She almost pokes him in the eye—mumbles “sorry”—and then lets her fingers trace his cheek, much as his did hers earlier. He shuts his eyes, breathing more shallowly as she explores his face, fingers moving over cheeks, nose, and chin.

“What’s going on?”

She begins to pull her hand back and he grasps it, lacing their fingers together. Last time they’d done this, it had been on the Crucible, Rose’s fingers gripping his as the Daleks destroyed his ship. Somehow, even in the midst of that devastation, that made it bearable.

But this Rose doesn’t remember that.

Rose must see him better than he thinks—or maybe it’s something in the way he’s holding her hand (never mind waking her in the middle of the night)—because she throws off the covers and shuffles forward. And just like that, his arms are full of warm and sleepy human. He breathes in deeply and then holds her close. His eyes burn and he shuts them to hold back the tears. He focuses on the sound of her heart beating and the soft hum of the TARDIS around them.

“You’re not him, are you?” her words are soft, but certain. He stiffens and begins to pull away, but Rose holds him tighter. “It’s all right. You’re from the future, yeah?”

He contemplates lying to her, but she’s going to see a younger him in a few hours who won’t have any memories of a late-night hug. He gives a rattling sigh. “Yeah.”

“What about you? I mean, the younger you? Is he—”

“He’s out,” he says simply.

“Oh,” Rose says. She loosens her hold on him, pulling away enough to peer into his face. He knows she still can’t seem him well, but his neck prickles under her intense scrutiny. One of her hands comes up, cradling his cheek. “What happened?”

“Rose—”

“Right,” she says with a sad smile. “You can’t tell me.” She pauses and then blurts, “Did I die?”

“What?” he says, mind coming to a screeching halt at the mere thought of it. “No, Rose. No.”

“Oh,” she says, looking adorably baffled. “Then what…?”

“I lost you,” he says. _Twice_ , hovers on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it back.

Rose’s eyes fill with tears, but she shakes her head, “I wouldn’t leave you. Not ever.”

“I know.” Oh, does he ever. “It wasn’t your choice, Rose.”

He can sense her heart rate quickening, breath becoming more shallow and rapid. “So I’d find my way back,” she croaks.

“Yeah,” he says, beginning to get choked up himself. How can he possibly explain that she fought her way back to him only so he could send her away?

She hugs him again, arms sliding around his neck and holding him tightly. “Then why’re you here?”

He buries his nose in her neck and can’t bring himself to answer.

“Doctor?” she says.

He pulls himself together and extricates himself from their hug. “Can’t,” he says with a shrug. “Timelines and all that.”

Rose presses her lips together and for a horrible second the Doctor thinks she might push him until he tells her everything, but then she nods. “Right. Figured you’d say that.”

They share a sad smile. “I should go,” he whispers. “I’ve all ready said too much.” Had Rose remembered this conversation when he left her on Bad Wolf Bay the first time? Is that what led her to work so hard on the dimensional cannon?

Not that he’ll ever get the chance to ask her, now.

“When are you—the other you, I mean—supposed to come back?”

He’s thrown for a second, and then realizes she’s talking about his younger self. “I don’t remember.”

She nudges him in the side. “Yeah, you do. Or you wouldn’t have come.”

“A few hours,” he admits.

“Well, then,” Rose says. She pulls back the covers and pats the space next to her. When he doesn’t move, she huffs and adds, “C’mon, then. Get in.”

“Rose…”

“D’you really want to go back to the TARDIS on your own?” Her voice catches on the last word, but she forces a smile. “Just for a while. You’ll know when it’s time to go.”

He nods, but the rational part of him seriously doubts it. How can he curl up with her and then leave? Knowing this is well and truly the last time?

But he kicks off his shoes and then slides under the covers. Rose props her head up on one hand and watches him.

“All right?” he asks nervously.

“Yeah,” Rose says. “Always knew you’d be a covers hog.”

“Ha,” he mumbles and then stills when Rose settles herself against him. His chest tightens and he wonders if this is what it feels like to drown.

She sighs quietly and shuts her eyes, beginning to relax. How can she be so calm about this? He can feel _everything_. The swell of her breasts against his chest, the steady thump of her heart, her breath against his neck, and her hair tickling his cheek.

He could have had this. He could have and he doesn’t and it was his choice. He could have left his other self on the beach and taken Rose’s hand. She would have gone with him in a second. Instead, he left her kissing another version of himself, a version made out of everything he hates most about himself.

Without thinking, words tumble out of him. “Don’t let me leave you.”

She stirs, eyes fluttering open. “Doctor?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just… you’ll make the right choice, Rose. I hope you’ll know that one day.”

Her forehead furrows in sleepy confusion. “What d’you mean?”

He brushes one hand over her hair. “Nothing. Honestly nothing.”

She still looks suspicious, but she’s had a long day (hours of running through a dry dessert, he remembers) and she settles down against him again.

“It’ll be okay, Doctor,” she whispers against him. “Even if I can’t… you’ll find someone, yeah?”

She looks desperate for reassurance and he wants to kick himself for scaring her. What he _should_ do is wipe her memories. That would be the proper thing, the safe thing to do.

But it hasn’t been so long since Donna and he can’t bring himself to raise his fingers to Rose’s temples and violate her private thoughts and memories. (He can still hear Donna begging him, _Please, no. Don’t make me go back_.)

Selfishly, he wants to have this one last moment with Rose, something only for _him_ before she spends the rest of her life with the other Doctor. (The one that’s still the Doctor, and still isn’t _him_ ).

“Yeah. Of course I will,” he says, with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

Some of the worry leaves Rose’s face and she forces a smile. “Okay.”

“Go back to sleep. I shouldn’t have…”

“Come, I know,” she says with a yawn. She shuts her eyes. “You said that already. I’m glad you did, though.”

“I am, too,” he says, oddly grateful for this one last moment, this chance to say goodbye when he couldn’t back on Bad Wolf Bay.

He won’t wipe Rose’s memories, but he _does_ let his fingers linger on her temples, implanting a suggestion to urge her back to sleep. Come morning, she might only remember this as a vivid dream.

He stays until he's certain she's fallen back into a deep slumber. Then he presses a soft kiss to her forehead and pulls back the covers. He hesitates, glancing at her once before resolutely pushing himself to his feet.

He doesn't look back and he doesn't say goodbye.


End file.
